


The strange and fearful story about the devil’s visit in Sevilla

by Coryphion



Category: Don Giovanni - Mozart/Da Ponte, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01, Side Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coryphion/pseuds/Coryphion
Summary: Motto: Be kind to the others. Do not hurt them, do not make them suffer. Above all, do not get into the wrong end of someone’s hell’s loop. Because, if you do, the devil might watch it.And the devil is bored and likes excursions.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. La Paloma

„And what such sweet dove is doing in this place forgotten by hope?” Lucifer asked with curiosity, intrigued by the new soul appearing in his dominion. His retinue stopped, keeping the due distance. The demons were used to their king chatting with new acquisitions. He usually spoke so nicely, at least at the beginning of the conversation. Of course, those who, hearing him speak, may have assumed, that he is, indeed, so kind and gentle, made a grave mistake.

The new soul, that drew his interest, the girl, kneeling in the middle of ash-covered void – the walls of her cell only starting to build around her, still shapeless – raised at him her brown eyes, beautiful, but haunted as if she didn’t see anything around her, only some abyss of despair.

“ _Es mi culpa,”_ she replied. “ _Siento que es mi culpa.”_

“Otherwise you most probably wouldn’t be here, _Palomita_ ,” agreed Lucifer stepping in front of the girl. There was something in her, that saddened him. More, something that woke his anger at the sight of such creature being… here.

It was not her beauty, beauty itself rarely touched his heart. Surprisingly many beautiful women came to hell as if the attractive appearance increased their risk of falling into the net of sin. Or, perhaps, it increased their chances for a more adventurous life. The ugly ones simply ended in convents or bearing endless herds of children to the fat and boring husbands. At least that was what Mazikeen used to say. She hated how Europe looked like in those years.

So, the beauty of this young woman didn’t pull his attention. It was her soul, though tormented, it was still full of light and innocence. Her purity was keeping demons at distance. No one touched her, as she knelt on the wasteland and the walls of her cell started to build around her, feeding on her guilt and despair. Lucifer, other than his demons, felt the light pulling him closer, like a beacon. Following its calling, he reached to raise the girl’s head, intending to look her in the eyes and learn her story, but before he managed to touch her, she recoiled from his hand, falling back on the land with a terror in his eyes.

“Ah. Did someone mistreat you? Perhaps it would please you to learn that he would end here too, sooner or later,” observed Lucifer. “He will not escape the fate… The miscreant who broke the creature so pure… and so brave,” he added, noticing the dark gash in the middle of the girl’s torso. She was still clutching the dagger in the blood-stained hands.

He reached again, this time for the knife, and she obediently handed it over.

Suicide. Women usually chose rope or poison. She was indeed a brave one.

Lucifer raised his hands, willing the walls of the cell to stop building.

“Well then, why don’t you tell me your story?” he asked. Recognizing by the cut of her satin dress and the pattern of jewels on her dagger, not much time must have passed from his last visit to Spain. He would like to learn, what exactly happened there that young women from noble and apparently very rich families were forced to commit suicide in the soul condemning despair.

“He died because of me,” explained the girl. Their eyes met and she sat more comfortably. Not that she started to feel safe here. No one felt safe in the hell, especially not in his company. However, the souls had to obey him. If he wanted her to sit and speak, that was what she would do.

“Who died, _Palomita_? Did you bring a man to suicide? Or did your husband kill your lover? Did your family not accept the man you chose for yourself? You humans and your prejudices…” Lucifer sighed, shaking his head. “So much hate and so many rules around such simple thing like carnal pleasures. Speak, dove. No judging here… not anymore. You have been judged already.”

“My father,” she replied and something in her tone and the way she raised her chin made him forget his rambling. “My father was defending my honour and died killed by the man who dishonoured me.” Her proud façade broke when she added: “I shouldn’t have called for his help.”

Not many things could silence the king of hell, but now he remained quiet for a long while.

“That’s not your fault that your father lost a duel. Or that someone forced you,” he stated finally. He knew it wouldn’t help, but still had to try.

“I shouldn’t have accepted an invitation,” she said matter-of-factly. “My fiancé never wrote love letters to me. He never invited me to the clandestine meetings. He is a decent man. I should have known the letter was not from him. And yet, when I got the letter signed by his name, I thought it was from him, I wanted it to be from him. I wanted him to desire me. I am an… debauched woman.”

“Oh, no, you are not,” Lucifer shook his head. “Believe me. I know everything about debauchery.”

“But I am,” repeated the girl, her sense of guilt strong enough to contradict the opinion of the devil. “I received the letter and I went to this garden and opened the gate… and he was wearing the cloak of my fiancé… and when I recognized him it was too late…” her voice broke and the tears started to flow on her face.

“Don’t cry,” ordered the devil and she stopped.

“So I started to call for help and he asked me to not to, he said I would regret it, and then my father came…” she interrupted and started to sob again.

“Don’t cry,” he repeated with certain impatience and, seeing that this time her guilt is too strong, finished for her: “And your father called him out and lost it.”

“Yes. My father… was not young. But he still had years of life ahead of him.”

“And then? Why did you use this little dagger of yours? Let me guess, your fiancé turned you down? Spoilt goods, he said? And that broke you down? Ah, I have seen it all. One day, he would be punished for it too. Or, perhaps, did your attacker got you pregnant? Did you, by taking your life, put out the light of the unborn spark? That will make for a tough loop, my dove.”

The girl looked at him and in her eyes he saw the remains of the former fire. “My fiancé did my bidding, seeking revenge on this man. Only that… he would drag him to the court, pester him with trials… and I wanted to see his blood. I wanted him dead.”

Ah, hatred it was. Strong, burning, relentless. Condemning, true, but how impressive.

“What a magnificent creature must you have been then, on the Earth,” sighed Lucifer. “Why didn’t we meet? I would learn you to follow your desires without that nonsense of guilt.”

“The revenge, it took too long,” whispered the girl, her expression haunted again. “That man was walking the earth, free, satisfied, happy. Mocking my family. And my father was dead. My fiancé wanted to marry, but how could I live, as if nothing happened? I understood there was no hope for me, no eternal salvation.”

“None of this was your fault. The problem is, that you died with hatred in your heart,” said Lucifer with resignation. He knew it was futile, no one ever listened. The one thing he couldn’t order the souls was to save themselves. Still, he recited: “You need to regain the faith in hope, compassion and mercy again. Believe in forgiveness.”

The girl looked at him as if she didn’t understand what he was talking about. Of course, she didn’t.

“Poor dove, you just had bad luck with the men in your life. Both your father and your fiancé seem to be some awful wimps,” he sighed, standing up. He was finished here. “What’s your father’s name? I will check whether he is here, though I would bet he enjoys the boredom of the Silver City. Such noble thoughtless fool, they should welcome him with open arms.”

To his surprise, the girl didn’t reply, only looked at him with surprisingly sober eyes, as if the powers of hell stopped working on her for a while.

“You are the devil? You are ruling this place?” she asked sharply.

“Beautiful, brave and clever!” beamed Lucifer. The fire in her eyes told him she was not going to beg for his help, something he couldn’t offer. “ _Si, Palomita._ I am.”

“Then don’t ask me for the name of my father only for the name of the man who destroyed us. He deserves your attention,” she spat hatefully.

“Oh, don’t worry. I will get him. I will see his sins and I will recognize you in his past and I will know it is him. And rest assured, I won’t forget. I have a very, very good memory.”

“He has a list.”

“A list?” Lucifer raised his eyebrows.

“A list of women he ruined. From many cities, countries… Aristocrats, servants, countrywomen, even nuns… Don’t laugh. He doesn’t even care whether they are beautiful or young… He just wants to pull them on the list,” the bitter grimace twisted her features. “I am on this list too. Like the hundreds of others. I couldn’t bear it.”

Lucifer frowned. “So much hate…” he whispered. No, this time he wasn’t referring to the girl. He knew enough about carnal desires to know, that this man, whoever he had been, was not searching for pleasure, only satisfying his hate. “Intriguing. What’s his name then, Dove?”

“Don Juan Tenorio.”

“I will remember,” he nodded and waver for the walls of the cell to build again.

“Punish him,” pleaded the girl in the last conscious thought, her eyes becoming hazy again, her expression distant, as the cell started to form into the shape of the garden.

A night, a moon, sweet-smelling, blooming bushes, a Moorish fountain… The dagger disappeared from Lucifer’s hand, just like the wound on the girl’s breast. Her outfit transformed into more rich and colourful, the dress she put on to seduce her fiancé… now it was torn and hanging from her shoulders, revealing the white skin covered with bruises… But she didn’t pay attention to her clothes, focused on two men engaged in a duel, the air suddenly filled with sounds of clashing steel. Lucifer stood behind her and watched them too, one man young and very handsome, the other one much older. Just as he thought, the old, thoughtless fool, starting the fight he couldn’t win, defending his stupid honour, unaware of the fact that he would send his daughter into eternal damnation. But the second one… ah, he was more complicated. He was just a phantom of the hell loop, but even so – the king of hell saw the was cold, relentless madness in his eyes.

It vexed him.

Driven by a sudden impulse, he grabbed the girls arms, turning her from the duel, trying to catch the remains of her consciousness:

“Where are you from? Where did it happen?” he called.

“In Sevilla,” she replied with distraction, her eyes pulled to the duel, where her father was just to receive the mortal stroke.

“And time?” He was never sure how much time passed from his last trip.

“What?...” she didn’t understand, struggling to release from his hold, to run to her father, dying on the floor.

“ _Anno Domini_?” the devil précised with a sneer.

“1630,” she replied absently, drowning in her loop.

When he let her go, she flew to the body of her father, falling over his motionless form and burst out in piercing cries.

Lucifer didn’t look at her anymore, only at the young, handsome man who was cleaning his sword from the blood, staining the blade. The phantom’s moves were calm and methodical and his face twisted into a cold smirk.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes and watched him carefully, crooking his head.

And then he also smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Readers. 
> 
> So, it is, indeed, going to be a kind of cross-over between our favourite TV Show and the story of Don Juan. There are many versions of this legend, and I have read none of them, neither the original tale, not Moliere drama (comedy?). I only watched, many times, the opera of Mozart, Don Giovanni, which I absolutely adore. Its libretto, written by Lorenzo da Ponte, would be the basis for this story, though I allowed myself for a few big changes. (For example, Donna Anna didn’t die before Don Giovanni. Probably, she didn’t commit suicide and lived long and happily – though the music suggests otherwise.)
> 
> Anyway, it would not be a story about Don Juan. This tale had many versions and is something too deep and complex for me to approach. It is still a small tale about our favorite characters from the show, perhaps slightly changed to be more like a fairytale.  
> After all, there are so many fairytales about the devil travelling across the earth... 
> 
> No Chloe Decker, obviously, but I believe that the characterization will be consistent with the show.


	2. Masquerade

“That’s disgusting, uncomfortable and unpractical,” announced Mazikeen, kicking against the vast skirts, taming her movements.

Their carriage stopped and she looked with envy at Lucifer, who simply got out, gracefully going down the small steps. Herself, she barely fit in the narrow carriage door with all that folds of satin around her, draped over some metal structure, that apparently European women used now to torture themselves with. Lucifer mockingly reached the hand to help her down, but she only bared her teeth at him in an angry snarl, with rapid movement pushed her skirts through the door and heavily landed on the muddy ground, barely keeping her balance.

“I want my armour back,” she whined.

“That’s the current fashion,” replied Lucifer with a shrug. “I am not complaining.”

“You are never complaining at the new clothes,” snorted the demon. “And now you can at least show off your legs,” she pointed at his limbs in the black tights.

“Yes, that’s rather becoming, don’t you think?” the devil preened, trying to see his reflection in the carriage window, admiring himself clothed in the very exclusive version of Spanish hidalgo outfit. He corrected puffed sleeves of his black jacket and picturesquely draped the cloak over his shoulders. “The collar is, indeed, uncomfortable, I admit, but the general impression… very dashing.”

However, his bodyguard demon kept struggling with her clothes. “How am I to fight in it?”

“I believe that in these times women do not do the fighting, my dear,” observed obliviously Lucifer. “But you could sew a few daggers into the bodice… or these, whatever it is,” he pointed at the draped folds of her dress. “As a matter of fact, there is enough place for a few sets. ”

“Really?” Mazikeen calmed down for a moment, running the hand down the padded bodice. Then her face fell down again. “But I cannot sew!”

“Oh, come. Let’s meet our sinner,” urged her Lucifer, leading her toward the door of the house they came to visit.

From the outside, the building didn’t differ from the other houses, it could belong to any rich merchant or nobleman in Sevilla. However, people privy to more… scandalous entertainments taking place in the city knew, that this place hosted special parties, whose participants used to put the masks on their faces at the beginning… and at the end of the party they used to wear nothing more, than the masks.

It definitely wasn’t the decent adobe.

“Nice touch, isn’t it?” Lucifer observed, pointing at the knocker in the shape of the demon’s head. He made the use of it and soon the door opened. “I prefer not to say my name,” he said to the butler, handing him a coin. The man only nodded, letting them inside.

The devil didn’t care much for anonymity, but he refused to go by a false name and his real one made a special impression. Nowadays, no one in Spain doubted the materiality of his existence and when he introduced himself, people used to cross themselves and run away, or simply faint, which was, in fact, quite amusing, but severely hindered whatever business he wanted to attend to. He had to make use of a small loophole by asking Mazikeen to do tend to the most pressing official matters for him – and she didn’t mind using a false name. As the matter of fact, she had about a dozen of them and she used to introduce herself so that he didn’t have to lie... and yes, it was perhaps a bit twisted, but he was not going to question the logic of his own rules.

Maze laughed him off about it, of course. The demoness was getting more and more impudent, with each their common excursion, but he almost always took her with himself. Otherwise, who would be able to appreciate his biting wits and clever remarks?

He simply needed an audience.

Once he and Maze fixed the satin masks on their faces, they entered the rooms in which, according to the common opinion, the most sophisticated debauchery in Sevilla was taking place. If that was the truth, Lucifer could only pity the Sevilla’s citizens for their lack of imagination.

The rooms were crowded by half-naked bodies, coquettish laughs of women and drunken shouts of men. Wine and some food stood on the tables and, as the most exotic attraction, narghiles.

The cheap brothel on the furthest province of China had more sophistication.

Lucifer shook his head with disappointment and came to the business. It didn’t take him long until he spotted the man from the hell’s loop. Brash and loud, he didn’t cover his face with a mask. He reigned in the middle of the room, raising mocking salutes, surrounded by the few debauched young men, certainly his followers, and the herd of courtesans.

“That’s the one,” he said, pointing at him to Mazikeen. “Don Juan Tenorio.”

“Neat,” said the demoness, licking her lips. “Well-built. I want him.”

“You will have him,” replied Lucifer with distraction. The man was attractive, true. The debauchery and drunkenness didn’t impair his condition yet, the open shirt showed athletic muscles. Of course, if Lucifer were to bed him, he would need to have him bathed, a few times, but Mazikeen had no such reservations.

“I want him now,” she stated, but before she started to walk toward the young libertine, Lucifer stopped her.

“Not yet, Mazikeen. Today we will only… examine the situation. You need to learn to appreciate the sweet taste of patience,” he teased her, seeing her pout. “Now, go. Talk with humans. Gather some gossips. And have fun, if you want. Just not with him.”

Himself, Lucifer also mixed into the crowd, searching for something that would get his attention. A few women approached him, trying to pull him into a kiss or encouraging him to sit with them, but he dismissed them with no more than a thought.

Boring, boring, boring. Usually, he was all for meaningless entertainment, but these women were simply working. None of them felt real desire. Besides, this time his thoughts were occupied by the sinner, who was laughing and singing in the middle of the room.

“I see that your pretty companion left you, Senor. Be careful, so that the Trickster of Sevilla wouldn’t steal her from you,” the voice sounded behind him and Lucifer turned, to see a man sitting in the corner of the room. He looked out of place, sober and not indulging any carnal desires.

“Trickster of Sevilla?”

“Don Juan Tenorio,” replied the man, and in his voice sounded the echo of the hatred Lucifer heard in hell when the condemned girl revealed this name. “Trickster of Sevilla is his nickname. Well deserved, for all his iniquity.”

“I heard about him,” Lucifer sat by the man, with a small gesture sending away another woman, who tried to entice him with her deep décolleté. Her face was twisted in a smile, but her eyes dull and he didn’t have to ask to know that all she desired was to leave this place. “He is famous for his contests.”

“Yes,” the man nodded bitterly. “He is a shameless scoundrel, with no respect to God’s commandments or to the women’s honour. He… plucks them like the flowers, and then tosses into the mud.”

Lucifer, quite untouched, raised his eyebrows: “So I heard. But I also noticed that in these days you got oversensitive at the matter of simple sins of pleasure. What if the flowers didn’t want to wither in solitude? Perhaps this man is simply better in reading the desires of the women’s hearts and bodies?” he asked ironically.

The man, so far rather friendly, lit with anger: “Watch your tongue, Senor, and show more respect for the fairer gender or I will teach you better manners with my blade.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. Spaniards. Unable to lead the casual conversation for more than five minutes without reaching for this prickly long tools they carried around. Himself, he appreciated the swords as a flashy accessory completing his outfit and even bought a few the most tastefully decorated, but so far never remembered to take one with him.

“Did the Trickster happen to pluck your flower?” he observed casually. “A little sister? Or perhaps your fiancé wasn’t as innocent as you hoped? And there is nothing wrong in entertaining the bored wife, as the matter of fact, if it was your wife he seduced, the fault is yours, because…”

He didn’t finish, because the man threw himself at him, simultaneously reaching for his sword. Or, at least, that was his intention. Lucifer, as thrifty in his movements as he could so that they wouldn’t draw attention, grabbed stranger’s hand preventing him for unsheathing the blade, and simultaneously seized his shoulder, holding him in place in a vice force grip.

“Not very honourable, to attack the man who is not carrying any weapon,” he observed with an innocent expression, seeing with amusement how the cheeks of the strangers redden with the blush of shame. Ah, Spaniards and their honour. So much fun to play with. “Now, tell me about Don Juan. You must know him. I see that you have a personal grudge against him. But now I command you to be honest. Does he hurt his lovers? Or does he love them?”

The man squirmed, more under the searching sight of the devil than in the strength of his grasp. Finally, he looked straight in his eyes and stopped struggling.

“The man is as full of hate like he is full of filth,” he sighed and Lucifer knew, he was speaking from the depths of his heart. “He lies to them promising love and attention and when he… defiles them, he tosses them away like trash. Ask how many times did his servants forces his victims from his doors… how many times did he leave them for the revenge of their families… to bear the shame and anger of their husbands… Once he pulls the name on his list, he cares nothing for the soul he brought to ruin.”

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know,” nodded calmly Lucifer and released the man, who slumped against the back of the chair like a spoilt toy. “You came searching for revenge, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I lost… someone. And there was nothing I could do. I called him out, but… he was better,” the man lowered his head and added quietly. “I follow him hoping to see how God’s punishment reaches him.”

Lucifer smirked sneeringly: “God is patient. He usually waits till the last breath, hoping that the little wayward lamb would repent and return on its knees to the sheepfold.” After a moment of consideration, he added. “I am usually patient too because I don’t care. Now, however, the Trickster got my full attention.”

“Who are you?...” whispered the man.

“I am sure you know already,” Lucifer smiled and allowed just a bit, just a pale golden reflection of hellfire to his eyes. Ignoring the surprised gasp, he leant towards the man with encouraging smile: “Now, I was going to act slowly, just because I like to play with my toys… but perhaps you could persuade me otherwise? Do you want to make a deal with me? To have your revenge served?...”

The Spaniard jumped awkwardly back, crossing himself a few times, his face paled with sudden terror.

“Oh, so boring…” Lucifer grimaced and mocked: “And here I thought you might have blood in your veins, instead of holy water. Well then, if we do not bargain, then off you go,” he ordered and the man awkwardly scrambled backwards out of the room, not letting the scared sight from the devil. He turned back only when he found himself in the doors.

On his way out, he almost fell into Mazikeen, who sent him a bemused glance.

“I have names,” she said simply, taking the place that the scared Spaniard names.

“Bravo, Mazikeen. Do tell.”

The demoness reached for the bottle of wine standing on the nearby table and took a long gulp from it.

“A few months ago your Don Juan killed in a duel some old pious fool named _Commendador_ Gonzalo de Ulloa. The cause of the fight was the commander’s daughter, Dona Ana. No one has seen her since weeks and she is assumed to be mourning in the country. Of course, we know better where she is,” observed Mazikeen matter-of-factly and Lucifer nodded.

Dona Ana was not resting in the country estate. Dona Ana was trapped for the eternity in the garden with Moorish fountain, watching her father die, sinking in her guilt, over and over again…

“And that poor scrap of a man you scared away from here is Don Ottavio, her former fiancé. He is following our Don Juan like a sad dog, moaning about revenge, but with no results. So far, he only became a kind of laughing stock for others.”

“I offered him a helping hand,” smirked Lucifer. “Alas, this particular dog is all bark and no bite.”

“There’s more. Apparently, killing the commander is considered a worse offence than sleeping around. Don Juan had a bad reputation before, but only after this incident, he became an outcast from his family. Now the only places open to him are such like this,” she made a move with her head, pointing at the room, “and the only friends – these young ones, who help him to drink away the rest of his gold. Once this is gone, he would have nothing left, but shame. Most probably, he would end his boisterous existence by his own hand in a few months. We can calmly go back wait and sooner than later we would welcome him in our humble place,” grinned Mazikeen, but, seeing discontent on Lucifer’s face, added, leaning toward him with a lascivious smile: “Or perhaps, if you do not want to wait, I will have a little rendezvous with him. I will see what all this fuss is about. And then,” smile disappeared from her face and her expression flickered, as if her left cheek for a moment transformed into some strange, repulsive picture, “then I would help him pass the threshold.”

“Mazikeen,” Lucifer said warningly.

The demoness cheek regained her previous smoothness, but the hungry expression didn’t disappear from her eyes. “I am not forbidden to kill people,” she said defiantly.

Another loophole they made use of sometimes.

“Not this time, Mazikeen. I want to look around first.”

Mazikeen sighed and nodded. “Of course. I should have known. You are stalling, as usual. You simply want to stay on the Earth a bit longer.”

“Hell is boring,” Lucifer shrugged his shoulders.

“This place is boring too,” stating Mazikeen, standing up. “Never mind, I know better than to argue with you when you set your mind. I am going to search for a… how do they call it? A seamstress? If we are to stay longer, I must do something with this dress.”

“Just be careful Mazikeen, women here aren’t supposed to walk alone in the streets!” Lucifer called mockingly behind her. “You might, perhaps, get attacked, or something!”

He smirked at her angry huff and furious glance and, once she left, focused again on the Trickster of Sevilla. The man’s mood didn’t falter. He kept refilling his goblet, but the wine he drank made him only laugh and sing louder. A heavy drinker, if there was one.

Lucifer for a moment required approaching him and making the use of his ability to read the human’s hidden desires. One small question and the Trickster’s soul would lie bare in front of him…

But where would be the fun in that? No use in getting straight to the main course, if there were so many _hors d'oeuvre_ waiting to be tasted.

So instead, when Don Juan took for a pipe laying on the small table, Lucifer overtook him on his way to the fireplace and reached for the fire-irons, raising a small piece of coal. The coal was cold, but when Lucifer handed it to Don Juan, it became red-hot again, casting ruby reflections on Lucifer’s black mask.

“Thank you, Senor,” stated the Spaniard and, leaning to lit the pipe, looked curiously at the devil, trying to recognize his features under the mask. “It is a pleasure to see a new face in this good adobe.”

“The pleasure,” replied quietly Lucifer, “will be mine.”

For a moment he looked into the Trickster’s eyes. Oh, he was the complicated one.

Dark and cold, under this merry, debauched façade.

A soul truly worth the devil’s attention.

“Until that moment enjoy your fiesta, Senor,” he said lightly, releasing Don Juan from the spell of his sight and, ignoring his anxious glance, turned back, disappearing in the crowd of guests.

For today, his mission was complete. Satisfied he thought of the entertainments he could enjoy in the meantime. He wasn’t picky, everything would do, everything with passion and taste, of course. Music, books, good food. Merchant’s stalls or taverns. Even gardens. Without Mazikeen watching him he could admit he liked flowers. The smell of blooms, the taste of fruits… Or, perhaps…

The devil turned his attention to the small female silhouette standing in the threshold. She was not one of the courtesans. Wrapped in something that looked like the servant’s cloak, the mask covering half of her face, she literally shivered with excitement, with opened eyes watching the obscene scenes unfolding in front of her eyes.

First time visitor. Sneaked out of the house to this place, to feed her desires.

“Hello, little star,” purred Lucifer, coming closer. “What are you doing here?”

The women jumped back, scared of being noticed. She quickly touched the mask on her face, relaxing, after she found it in place. Then she looked at him more cautiously, opening her eyes even wider.

“Do not lie,” Lucifer forestalled any story she might have prepared and met her sight. “Just tell me, what is that you desire?”

She sighed, falling into the devil’s spell and replied dreamily: “I want to see how the love between man and woman looks like. My family is sending me into the convent next month, before that, I want… I want to know the taste of the forbidden fruit.”

Even in the mask, it was obvious, that she was no beauty. Scrawny and small, she couldn’t hold the candle to any woman in this room. But the lust, the hunger in her eyes… it was incomparable.

“Right place, right time, _mi Alma,”_ sighed Lucifer, reaching for her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The legend says, that Don Juan was once walking in Sevilla, along the shores of Guadalquivir. He wanted to lit a cigar and asked the man, who was walking on the opposite shore, for fire. The man lit Don Juan’s cigar reaching his arm, who magically prolonged across the river. It was a devil, keeping track of Don Juan’s steps.  
> My story is situated in the times when cigars were yet not produced in Sevilla. Still, the scene with a pipe in this chapter is a small bow in the direction of this legend.


	3. Dona Elvira

The carriage drawn by two pretty, black horses halted at the fork of the road, at the beginning of the path leading to the small village church. The carriage was very elegant, black with silver adornments, similar in pattern to the motives decorating the harness of the horses. 

“The church?” spat Mazikeen, peeking through the window of the carriage. “What for the pits of Hell are we doing here?”

Mazikeen was wearing a long black dress, at first sight, similar to the cut that was currently fashionable in Spain. However, she must have forced the seamstress to do something special with it, because there was far less material on her, and she moved with ease. Besides, the layers of the fabric clung to her shapes underlining them rather than concealing. By the present standards, it was rather indecent, but also nice to watch and Lucifer definitely didn’t mind.

“The remains of the Commandor Gonzalo de Ulloa are buried in the family chapel in Sevilla, under the proud marble statue and pompous epitaph,” he replied, following Mazikeen’s sight. “But there was no place in the family grave for his daughter, as she died by her hand. She was buried in the convent, where she spent her last months. From what I heard, that was the only one that agreed to lay her in the holy ground,” he spat mockingly. “For the dotation, I assume.”

“So what?” Mazikeen shrugged her shoulders. “There is nothing of her here. Do you want to see her? You can, anytime. At home.”

“I was just curious,” replied Lucifer absently and get out of the carriage, looking around.

The church and a few buildings looked as poor as a small village convent can look like. The walls were old and crooked, the roof must have been leaking and the most impressive part was a vegetable garden.

Lucifer grimaced reluctantly. Not that he minded visiting the churches. What they said about holy water and the devil wasn’t true. The only thing that could hurt him in the church was the present style of decors hurting his taste. However, he preferred big city churches, filled with small sins of big hypocrites in ornate robes, where hymns about vanity were chanted among adornments from blood-covered gold robbed in the New World… Oh, that was fun! That was where he liked to play, pulling out the dirty desires of the pompous souls that claimed to be holier than their Heaven itself… But this place was different.

“I am not going there,” warned the demoness. “That place reeks.”

“On the contrary, Mazikeen,” sighed Lucifer. “It shines.”

Having wrapped himself tighter in the coat against the chilly wind – the coat was blue, he decided, that going all black would be too ostensive – he walked slowly alone toward the small church, carefully putting the feet in the muddy ground.

He found the grave not in the church, but at the small graveyard behind it. Dona Ana de Ulloa received nothing but the simplest tombstone, with short inscription and the crude drawing of a little angel, chubby and awkward, just as the humans used to paint them these days. The stone was slightly crooked and the inscription and drawing – already vanishing, washed away by the rains of no more than one season. Lucifer thought, that it would soon disappear entirely, just like the name and face of Dona Ana from the people’s memories – and the girl herself would still be crying for her father in the illusion of Moorish garden, her pain and despair unchanged.

“So that’s true, she is condemned,” an old, hoarse voice sounded behind him. “If the devil came to her grave…”

Lucifer rolled his eyes with a reluctant snort. From time to time he came across the people who immediately saw his nature. True believers, pure souls. Whatever. Not that he made a secret about it, but he preferred to have control over being incognito, or not. 

He turned back and looked at the elderly nun. Just as she saw through him, he saw through her within the blink of an eye. Sister Gabriella, a gardener, lived a long life filled with hard work, without hubris or envy. Her back was hunched from bending over plants and her hands calloused and darkened from working in the soil. 

Lucifer knew when the battle was lost.

“I mean no harm,” he sighed. “I was just curious, I am already leaving.”

But the nun didn’t look at him, only at the tombstone. “She was a good girl,” she said sadly. “Everyone said she damned herself, but…” she shook her head and looked at Lucifer almost challengingly: “I will keep praying for her,” she concluded and left, her steps heavy and tired.

“You know, that may still help!” Lucifer called behind her. It was true, though very unlikely. 

Driven by the sudden whim, he reached under his coat, releasing just a bit of his wings, enough to snatch one small feather, and gently touched the tombstone with it. The awkward face of the chubby angel transformed, he lines carving deep in the stone, in the likeness of the Dona Ana’s face.

Then the devil turned back and without a further glance back, returned to the carriage.

* * *

“Lucifer, for the second time, what are we doing here?” fumed Mazikeen, when they started their way back to Sevilla. “I understand snitching the man, right. I understand fun, though I like it better in Hell. I know that there is the business to see to. But this? Visiting the village church? To weep over some stone?”

“My Lord,” observed Lucifer with distraction, looking behind the back window, as another, quite expensive carriage pulled at the same place they have just left.

“What?” 

“What are we doing here, my Lord,” he repeated, deliberately slowly, at Mazikeen’s confused glance. “That’s how you should start. You forget how to address me, Mazikeen, that’s the reason all this commotion in your head. And all these pesky questions, you should know better than to ask them. Now, don’t you think that’s strange? Another carriage… and apparently, the traveller is also going to the graveyard. Slow down!” he called to their driver. “I think someone else is visiting the grave of the Commander's daughter.”

“Perhaps the fiancé,” muttered Mazikeen.

“No, it is a woman.”

Mazikeen rolled her eyes, as if she wanted to say ‘so what?’, but kept silent after the reprimand she received. 

Lucifer observed the female silhouette standing in front of the same tombstone he visited the moment ago. He expected her to go to the church, or speak with the nuns, but she only returned to the carriage. They were heading in the same direction and Lucifer ordered the driver to ride slowly so that the other vehicle could near to them. 

“Make yourself scarce, Mazikeen,” said the devil and the demoness moved deeper into the seat, melting into the dark inside of the carriage. The darkness thickened around her and it was hard to tell, whether she was still there.

Then Lucifer closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating, and one of the wheels caught a stone, the carriage jumped and swerved at the side of the road, coming to an abrupt halt. The devil slowly exited the vehicle.

“I am sorry, I don’t know how it happened…” started the driver, climbing off the seat, but Lucifer calmed him, waving his hand and leant over the wheel himself.

In the same moment, the carriage behind them pulled closer and slowed down, finally stopping.

“Do you need help, Senor?” asked the passenger, leaning from his carriage. “My servants can assist you.”

Lucifer looked at her curiously. The woman was still quite young, though not in the prime of her life, all covered with the plain travel clothes, her hair and most of her face hidden by the vail. But her eyes… ah, her eyes could truly be called a mirror of the soul. 

So full of… everything.

The devil took an interest.

“The axis of the wheel is broken,” he replied, “and I would like to return swiftly to Sevilla. If you allow me to travel with you, I would be grateful.”

The woman hesitated, unsure. Even if she was accompanied by two servants, it was unusual for a noble lady to travel with the stranger. And yet, when the devil asks kindly, smiling, the humans obey.

“Of course,” she said moving back, allowing him to enter the carriage.

Ignoring the wave of anger from Mazikeen resounding in his head – yes, that wheel was broken, after all, he never lied – and the scared glance from the driver, who, having worked for them for a few days, was already terrified by the prospect of being left alone with the demoness – Lucifer got into the carriage.

Having taken the seat opposite the woman, he watched her cautiously, while her carriage slowly manoeuvred to drive around his and proceed to Sevilla. She must have been very beautiful once, part of her charm gone with the freshness of youth. Her dress was modest and the veil covering her hair – thick and lacking any decors. By her appearance, she could have been a member of one of these secular orders. But, no… her eyes spoke otherwise. She wasn’t free of the turmoil of this world. 

“Have you been visiting a family grave?” he asked casually. “I noticed you at the convent’s graveyard.”

“Ah. No,” she replied only and looked aside. She spoke with a certain difficulty as if she preferred to remain silent. “Shouldn’t you introduce yourself, Senor?”

“I would prefer to stay incognito,” replied Lucifer with a charming smile, that made her accept the unusual answer without protest. “And you?”

“Dona Elvira. I will not reveal my family name if you do not reveal yours.”

“Fair enough,” commented Lucifer, watching her with narrowed eyes. There was something… hidden in her. He couldn’t tell, whether it was strength or despair. _A complicated one._

A soul like this would require a bit more pressure. Of the many possible tools the devil had to his disposal, he decided on temptation.

“You are not coming from Sevilla. Your accent is different,” he said, just to keep talking. The words were not important, only the lowered timbre of his voice and a long glance, he sent her, his dark eyes burning, whispering unspoken promises. Usually, that would be enough for any woman to get lost in the promise of passion.

And yet, this one only passed an oblivious glance at him. “No, I am not,” she replied only.

There were indeed some women with no interest in men’s attention and for a moment Lucifer regretted not taking Mazikeen with him. Then, however, he realized this was not the case.

“You are in love,” he observed. “Even more than that. You have… fully devoted yourself to someone.”

She flinched, her eyes widening. “That’s… the most unusual conversation. How… dare you,” she replied, appearing more scared than indignant. “I will take you to Sevilla, but I will speak with you no further.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He really would prefer a more subtle approach, but if this stubborn woman refused to talk with the devil, she left him no choice. “I am only trying to get some answers,” he sighed and leant to her, to meet her sight: “So, tell me, Dona Elvira, what’s that you desire the most in the world? I know that deep inside, you want me to know. After all, you need to confine all your secrets to someone.”

The woman froze, looking him in the eyes, her own getting glassy and distant. “That’s not a secret,” she said, slowly and sadly, he unshed tears suddenly trembling in her voice. “Everyone knows I love… with all my heart… the man who turned me down. I only want to have him back. The only one for me, in the whole world.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” snorted Lucifer. Somehow, he felt strangely disappointed that this woman, who for a moment seemed so unique, gave up to him as easily as anyone else. The challenge she offered lasted far too short. The disappointment made him harsh and angry. “I could tell it on my own. More details.”

“When I was young and innocent I fell in love, but the man I chose took my heart and left. Left me for the others. Many others,” she spat, with a strangled sob. “I want him back. I want him to love me and beg for my forgiveness. And I want to forgive him, I want him to change.”

“People do not change, not really,” muttered Lucifer. “And still, no useful details. What have you been doing at the tombstone of the Commandor’s daughter?”

“Trying to remember, who my lover really is. How his victims end. Trying to hate him,” the woman still spoke in a haunted, distant manner. “But it didn’t help.”

“Ah, so my hunch was good!” exclaimed Lucifer triumphantly. “Your lost love is the Don Juan of Sevilla!” Satisfied, he relaxed, leaning comfortably on the seat. Dona Elvira shuddered, released from his spell. 

“Why did I tell you that?” she asked, paling.

“Do not worry, Love, people like to tell me things,” assured her Lucifer with a calming smile. “Now tell me, why do you still want this man? He is no good, I heard. He lost everything. All noble families in Sevilla turned their back on him. A decent lady like you won’t be even able to meet him, because he does not visit decent places.”

Dona Elvira, still shaken, just looked at him, her eyes wide. “Who are you?”

“Do speak,” encouraged her Lucifer. “Let there be no secrets between us. Who knows perhaps I will be able to help you.”

Her eyes went even wider and suddenly shined with a new feeling – hope. For a moment, the devil got struck by her beauty. Was it her soul? Her feelings? _Amazing._

“I want him, no matter what the others say. I know, he could be a better man. There is still… a good in him,” she said pleadingly as if begging Lucifer to believe her. For a moment he wondered, how often was she repeating these words, how many humiliations, did she suffer because of her loyalty to the wrong man.

For a moment, the devil thought it would be the very right thing to sweep the Trickster from the surface of the earth and closed his eyes, to hide the shadow of Hellfire, that was waiting for the ingrate.

But that woman was seeking mercy for him. She believed him to be good.

“Now that’s a new point of view… quite intriguing and, perhaps, worth exploring,” he said with consideration and slightly mockingly. He looked in the Trickster's eyes and he didn’t believe that this man would be able to change and repent. Still, the woman in front of him was so fervent, so full of hope…perhaps she would manage to surprise him.

Oh, he would like to be surprised so much!

“Very well,” he said, having taken his decision and proceeded in all-business tone: “I will try to help you. You must know there are limits to what I am able – or willing – to do. I won’t force Don Juan to love you or cloud his judgement in any way. Whatever his choice would be, must be his and his only. I cannot also change his soul so that he would become… good, just like that. No one can do that, not even the one whose sign you are wearing,” he pointed at the Dona Elvira’s cross. “But I know everything about human’s desires. I could help you to appear… desirable in his eyes of your lover.”

Dona Elvira inhaled sharply, almost flinching. The devil aimed well, addressing her worst, most intimate fears. “It’s been years since we shared… passion. I am neither young nor would I be a novelty for him,” she admitted, biting her lips and added, bitterly: “I am already on his list.” 

“I will help you to get and keep his attention.”

“What do you want in return?” Dona Elvira suddenly sounded just as businesslike as he. 

Lucifer smiled. This woman had lost her head for the wrong man but was still strong and smart. It was a pleasure to aid someone like that. Of course, no matter the pleasure, his aid came with a price.

“I want to be there… to see you searching for goodness in his soul. I’d like to see with my own eyes, whether you were right,” he replied.

“Strange request… Seems very little for much effort,” Dona Elvira eyed him distrustfully. “You didn’t even give me your name. Why should I trust you?” she shook her head and added, more to herself. “I shouldn’t, right?”

Still, Lucifer felt that she had already accepted his help. If he said who he was, if he demanded her soul, as the stupid tales announced, she would have agreed.

Of course, he wanted nothing like that.

“I am just curious,” he replied, for the third time today. “Do we have a deal?”

Dona Elvira nodded slowly. “Yes. Deal it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, someone correctly pointed out that I was using Italian names. That was a mistake I wasn’t aware of. As a matter of fact, while telling Don Juan’s story, I was basing mostly on the libretto to “Don Giovanni”, written by Lorenzo da Ponte. The characters have Italian names, like Don Ottavio, Donna Anna or Donna Elvira. I am used to these names and the characters they represent. However, I changed them into the Spanish version (‘Dona Ana’) because it would be difficult to explain why characters leaving in Sevilla had Italian namesJ  
> Sorry for the mish-mash. This story is mostly story dedicated to Lucifer TV series, situated in the world created in this show. The Don Juan theme is more like a background to write about it.


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